Aami - A few thoughts

"What can be taken away from Kamala Das's poem is this technique of poetry writing," my teacher said "To deeply observe and record the experiences of the five senses - sight,smell,hearing,taste and touch."

Upon hearing this, I looked once more at the page on my poetry textbook and visualized it as it was meant to be. Standing right there where she stood...seeing and feeling what she did... That was the first time I remember enjoying Poetry. Over the following years I read a few more of her works in English and I gradually decided that I was a fan of Kamala Das's soulful writing. 

I went to watch Aami with trepidation about director Kamal's selection of Manju Warrier for the role of Madhavi Kutty. Still, I readied myself to bear an open mind, curious to know what this biopic of the engimatic Kamala Surayya had in store for the audience. 

Her childhood years spent in the strict confines of a disciplined household in Calcutta, sweetly punctuated by vacations spent in her Grandmother's tharavadu, was quite often the theme of her writings. I felt that the film portrayed this phase quite well, house, grandmothers et al. The deep kohl of the eyes, the curly black hair, the dusky colour and the chocolate-melting sweet smile - altogether, little Kamala's casting was spot on. Among the servants, Valli was a perfect cast too though Janu and the other servants seemed a bit too plump and proudly devoid of the humble shoulder-slump one can observe among women who are used to permanently bending in the backbreaking housework involved in the maintenance of a large sprawling old tharavadu with endless "muttams" to sweep all day. Small flaws aside, Young Kamala's curious inquiries about caste and God kept me engaged.

Next came the 15 yr old Kamala who, purely with respect to looks, was the best cast with deep lovely black eyes and plump cheeks. However it did sadden me to see that the director used no discretion in shooting intimate scenes involving the uber masculine Murali Gopi and this child, her feet, her fingers and her face still not having lost its baby-ishness. I kept wondering if this itself would'nt qualify as child sexual abuse and recoiled in distaste!

Fully understanding and even agreeing with the requirement of such scenes to accurately portray (the trauma of) Kamala's early marriage,I feel, with current advancements in technology, Manju herself wouldn't have been a horrible fit here...at least for the purposes of sparing this child the obvious trauma of shooting these scenes with Murali.

And then came Manju Warrier - an actress of such great caliber and talent,  determined to give her sincere best to a role for which she was sadly and thoroughly miscast. 

As I remember Kamala Das (the name Kamala Surayya still not flowing easily on my lips), what I recollect first is the brilliant twinkle in her eyes...the twinkle that never lost shine and never failed to appear in a single photo or video of hers, notwithstanding the year or her age. Manju Warrier's eyes seemed dead mostly, her own charming spirit unable to break through the heavy makeup. At best they portrayed sadness and anger at appropriate times. But absolutely no breathtaking magnetism which was so characteristic of Kamala's eyes. 

Another peculiarity about Kamala that fans will recollect, would be her careless style of draping saris around her. As if vaguely aware of her carelessness but unwilling to shackle herself even with a practical pin, she used to tuck a portion of the sari into the neck of her blouse, temporarily and loosely holding it in place. Unfortunately Manju, having made a sad attempt to mimic this style, failed miserably, the tuck and the rest of the sari too neatly and modestly wrapped around her, never sensuously, absent mindedly, falling off her shoulder. The upright, straight forward, smart and modest Manju could not bend her disciplined bharatnatyam-trained body to portray unassuming sensuality which was the need of the hour. 

Another jarring difference was in the tone of the voice and the delivery of dialogues. Though Manju easily captured the rises and falls of Kamala's beautiful Thrissur accent, her voice was too sharp, her laughter too hard-cut to be anywhere close to Kamala's soft, sensual, mellifluous manner of speaking, words flowing smoothly into each other, the tone a strange enticing combination of directness, humour and irresistible charm. This extreme difference in styles disturbed me so greatly that at the end of 2-2.5 hrs, I decided that if Manju would laugh one more time, I would seriously consider walking out of the movie hall without much delay.

The hair and the makeup was completely inaccurate and highly disappointing considering current industry standards. Manju Warrier was greatly let down, in my opinion, by her movie crew.

Tovino made frequent appearances if only for the purpose of constantly rendering sickly sweet smiles and burly shoulders to cry on. I am quite glad that Prithviraj's dates clashed and he did not have time to act this quite ineptly written role that was a far cry from Madhavi Kutty's Krishna.  

Murali Gopi did a good job as usual, perfectly fitting the bill as a typical Malayalee husband, slowly transforming from an inconsiderate and perverted man to a quiet pillar of support and protection to the ageing Kamala Das.

I did like Anoop Menon's flawless portrayal as the late influence and attraction in Kamala Das' life - the gentle breeze that creates ripples in the placid lake that is her old age, causing yet another turn in the course of her life, this time with respect to her religion itself.

Overall, the movie viewer is at the risk of walking out with this conclusion - Kamala Das was a woman of beautiful words and many vagaries which she justified under the name of romance and naivete. She was probably even a narcissist who so greatly fell for the attentions of her admirers, that it resulted in foolish acts such as standing for elections and even converting religions at almost the fag end of her life. She failed repeatedly and consistently, finally in life itself - her epitaph unequivocally admitting that she knew not where she had gone wrong. I do feel as I walk dejectedly out of the movie hall that the makers of Aami possibly loved her... but surely never respected her. This movie is not a tribute to the memory of Kamala Das...her magnetic, bold but soft allure is still left lying in the grave with her, remembered warmly only in the minds of her admirers.